


To The Devil

by Nununununu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Acceptance, Age Difference, Caretaking, Class Differences, Feelings, Historical, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Attitudes, Slice of Life, Social Class Divide, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: There is approaching two decades’ worth of years between them, as well as the impenetrable class divide.
Relationships: Middle-aged plump gentleman/Young slim male valet, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31
Collections: pine4pine 2020





	To The Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> A treat for KannaOphelia. I hope you like it :)
> 
> (25.09 Edited very slightly to correct a typo)

“We did not expect you back so soon on the night of Lord Moresby’s birthday celebrations, my lord,” Dennings’ eyes remain on his work as he eases the buttons undone on Edmund’s waistcoat, “If I may be so bold as to observe.”

“You may,” Edmund has always permitted Dennings certain liberties; has always been what his friends call ‘a soft touch’ with the staff. But the man does an excellent job, absolutely top class, and the rest of the lot downstairs aren’t at all bad either, “Philip became rather too free with his opinions and had to be escorted out. After that, it didn’t feel quite right to continue the party without the, hm. Guest of honour.”

“Mm?” A quick glance up at him – Dennings’ eyes shining bright in the lamplight. Edmund should not be noticing his eyes, “Lord Moresby was, ah –”

There’s no polite way to put it, is there.

“Thoroughly foxed, yes,” Standing complacently – seemingly complacently – as Dennings rises up on his toes to reach as he slides his hands under the waistcoat and works it free from Edmund’s shoulders, Edmund pretends not to notice how the movement brings his valet’s body in close to his. How his hands are broad enough that they could easily span the younger man’s waist – Dennings a small, slender shape in contrast to Edmund’s more generous physique.

There is approaching two decades’ worth of years between them, as well as the impenetrable class divide. While being decent to his servants is considered such a ripe subject for ribbing by Edmund’s fellows – and society at large – anything further would simply be scandalous. Ruinous. For Dennings, even more than Edmund, who has the Winchester title and a sizable inheritance to his name.

He wishes they had met under different circumstances. Sometimes, when Dennings hesitates just briefly – just barely noticeably – before undoing Edmund’s cravat or untucking his shirt or handing him a towel as Edmund rises from his bath –

Well. He wishes, but he is not going to throw Dennings’ position into jeopardy should he reach out by mistake.

He wishes reaching out wouldn’t be a mistake. He wishes he didn’t see each of the careful looks the younger man awards him when he thinks Edmund isn’t paying attention, and he wishes the feeling of his valet’s hands moving on his body as he undresses him – so attentively, so professionally; Dennings too never lets himself venture beyond the realm of what can be reasonably denied –

He wishes it didn’t stir him so.

His heart as well as his body. He had never expected to fall for his valet. He had never expected to fall for anyone – instead to fall into a loveless marriage, as he had always supposed, although he had hoped to be able to make a reasonable match. To find a wife he could converse and exist with pleasantly, and she with him.

He would not often have troubled this hypothetical wife with the toils of the marriage bed. In truth, were it not his duty, he might not have troubled her at all. And yet Dennings –

“I am glad you escaped Lord Moresby’s rampage unscathed, my lord,” There is the tiniest touch of amusement around Dennings’ mouth – _Patrick_ ; his given name is Patrick – and Edmund should scold him for this impropriety, should remind him of his place.

He should certainly not consider confiding that he made his excuses to his friends and left in Moresby’s wake, so he could spend longer speaking with his valet under the pretext of wishing an early bath.

It is a fair form of torture, leaning against Dennings’ arm once almost all of Edmund’s clothes are off and neatly folded to be taken away for cleaning, and Edmund need only divest himself of the rest.

The bath is steaming gently; Dennings always prepares it just right, and with a glass of Edmund’s preferred drink on a tray nearby to savour before washing, a small unasked for touch that always makes Edmund feel absurdly grateful and somewhat like kissing him.

His valet. Another man. He is aware of the reaction society would expect – want – insist – he have. And yet the thought of kissing Dennings shoots a thrill straight through him that –

It is dangerous to have such thoughts.

“My lord?” Dennings has his eyes averted. His long lashes flutter minimally as Edmund removes his undergarments, but he never seeks to take a look. The faint sign of heat in his face betrays him even so.

Edmund will never tell his valet how that heat betrays him. To do so would –

No. He will never risk it.

He was surprised at first when he slowly came to realise that Dennings found him appealing – his age, his size, his wealth, his position; there are so many things about him that should be alienating to the younger man.

Instead Dennings fails to quite conceal a sigh as he helps Edmund into the steaming water. There is something so lushly appealing about the loose press of his mouth.

Edmund is just as tempted to sigh in return with the same yearning. He settles himself against the back of the bath and accepts the glass when Dennings offers the tray instead.

“Thank you, my lad,” He will allow himself this much, this forbidden familiarity, at least. A weakness, but –

“A pleasure, my lord,” Dennings – _Patrick_ – colours almost alarmingly this time. He also fails to turn away quickly enough to entirely hide his smile.

Edmund shouldn’t feel like he’s just been handed the world. But he does and he clings onto it, this small moment, and it feels wonderful, and –

And to the devil with what society would think; Edmund will admit it, here and now, at least in the privacy of his own mind.

It feels right.


End file.
